


Practicing

by Sociofemme



Category: I Want To Go Home! - Gordon Korman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:44:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sociofemme/pseuds/Sociofemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rudy is bad at something. Mike is happy to teach him all he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practicing

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [](http://calathea.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://calathea.livejournal.com/)**calathea** 's fault. I swear to god.

On the last day of camp, when Mike was looking a bit lost, Rudy handed him a small sheet of paper before walking off to his parents' car. When he looked back through the window, Mike was still beaming down at the address written there.

Honestly, Rudy didn't expect him to write. When a clone sits on you and forces you to write a letter every three days, even if it's not exactly a work of art, you have to do it. Mike didn't have clones at home, therefore--no letters.

But three days later, his mother handed him a letter.

He wrote back.

After that, they were unstoppable. Rudy probably could've talked his parents out of sending him to summer camp this year (Algonkian hadn't been very happy about the volleyballs, and Rudy barely managed to avoid taking responsibility for that one), but he at least managed to get sent to the same one that Mike was going to.

The year after that, most of the better summer camps had shared information and wised up, and they probably wouldn't have been accepted to the same camp anywhere closer than Saskatchewan. They didn't bother, though, because halfway through that third summer, Rudy got his driver's license, and they didn't need forced fun in order to spend months hanging out and listening to music.

One of those summer days, Rudy couldn't seem to settle down. He paced, his foot jiggled, and he couldn't seem to keep a conversation going. Even his supply of dry observations had ended. He wasn't sure how most normal people brought uncomfortable subjects up to ask for advice--he'd never needed to, before. So he just kept fidgeting.

He knew it was making Mike nervous, and Mike finally just asked, "What? What's going on? Are your parents making you try out for the Olympics or something?" He blinked. "They're not, are they? Because that would be--"

Rudy shook his head, and Mike cut himself off. Rudy reached for his mask of calm, but it kept eluding him. He sighed and covered his face with his hand, flopping backwards onto Mike's bed. At this, Mike shot up in alarm, clearly ready to call for the paramedics, but Rudy waved him back down.

"You know how--" Rudy stopped, awkwardly. How the hell was he supposed to ask for help with this? "I'm good at some things," he said. "But, uh, I'm not very good at some other things."

"Welcome to life," Mike muttered, and Rudy shot him a death glare.

"I'm baring my soul to you here," he said pointedly. "The least you could do is refrain from mocking my pain."

Mike held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry. So, what are you bad at?"

Rudy felt himself blush. As his face got hotter and hotter, he found that it was almost impossible to force himself to keep talking. Mike was gaping at him, and Rudy just wanted to die.

Mike audibly gulped. "Is this--is this a sex talk?" he asked, waving his hands. "Because I'm not--I mean, whatever, I just never thought you were--you know, interested in all of that." He waved his hands again, somewhat mysteriously, and made a slight cupping motion in the air. "Not that I'm opposed to talking about it, but--" he paused, "okay, no, go ahead. What exactly aren't you good at?"

Rudy covered his face again, and remembered when he used to be better at bluffing than this. He used to be better at everything than this. "Masturbation," he said, before he let himself lose his nerve. "Jerking off. Whatever. It's so--" he floundered for a moment, trying to find the right word "--boring."

Mike collapsed next to him, shaking so hard with laughter that Rudy wanted to try to smother him with a pillow. On second thought, perhaps that was an impulse he didn't want to suppress, and he set about energetically trying to slaughter his horrible, still-laughing, probably-former best friend with a pillow and a plush hippo, straddling his ribs and going in for the kill. Mike resisted, and bucked upward from under the makeshift implements of destruction, trying to unseat Rudy. He only managed to make Rudy more determined, and Rudy managed to reach back with his feet and pin Mike's legs just below the knee. He hadn't minded learning to wrestle, though he largely refused to do it competitively, either.

Mike had stopped laughing and was looking up at Rudy with a speculative expression. Rudy narrowed his eyes down at him, suspiciously, waiting for him to try an escape. When the attempt came, it wasn't as aggressive as Rudy expected--it was more of a writhe, and suddenly Rudy didn't think Mike was on board with the mock wrestling match anymore. He felt Mike move underneath him again, and he let himself be shifted with the movement, almost blankly startled at the idea that Mike was--had his--and they were--

"It shouldn't be boring," Mike told him, from close range. Rudy could feel the breath from the words tickle his hair just below his ear as Mike leaned up. "I can show you, if you want."

Rudy stared down at him, his brain still refusing to kick back into gear. Mike hissed at him in good-natured frustration, and flipped them over. Rudy passively allowed himself to be flipped, just waiting, fascinated, to see what would happen next.

What happened next was that Mike was lying mostly on top of him and talking at him, and Rudy had no idea what he was saying because he didn't think he'd ever felt anything remotely like this before. His hands reached out without his conscious permission and grabbed Mike at the hips, and he sort of--rubbed. Mike groaned and flopped his head down, next to Rudy's ear and said thickly, "See, you're a natural," following that with another slow movement downward, ending with a sort of wriggle.

Rudy saw a flash of white behind his eyes and his fingers tightened on Mike's hips. Mike's head had turned away slightly, and Rudy saw a bare patch of skin on Mike's neck that looked white, and fragile, and vulnerable, and he couldn't have stopped himself from biting at that spot for anything. Mike rewarded the bite with a full-body shiver that Rudy just had to echo, and it was just then that Rudy realized that his jeans had been unbuttoned, though he didn't know when or how. He didn't mind--he went with it, went with Mike, who he now realized was some kind of evil genius, more diabolical than Rudy had ever been.

Mike was hard against him, Rudy felt, hard against his own cock, and he was pushing down against him, grinding them together. The expression on his face should have been ridiculous, or silly as he looked down at Rudy, but what he was doing was so utterly fantastic that he couldn't think, couldn't tell what was ridiculous and what was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. And then, stunningly, it got even better, as Mike reached down between them and put his hand over Rudy's cock and gripped it, tightly, through Rudy's briefs. Rudy felt every fingertip as clearly as if against bare skin, and his brain floated away. All that was left was Mike, and his cock, and Mike's hand, Mike's wonderful hand that was moving against him.

Mike grabbed at one of Rudy's hands where he was gripping at Mike's hip, and moved it around so that Rudy could feel his matching hardness, though Mike had clearly disdained briefs that day, so he felt only gloriously hot, soft, skin over Mike's hard cock. Rudy was so far gone that his much-vaunted coordination was utterly shot, and he could barely manage to clench his fist before he closed his eyes and came, blissfully, feeling Mike ease him further as the shocks started to diminish.

Mike gave him a few seconds before nudging at him hopefully, and Rudy opened his eyes. The nearly-desperate look on Mike's face tore at him, and he awkwardly moved his hand a few times, not quite sure what he was doing. Mike dropped his head down and moved Rudy's hand away. Rudy was taken aback--he hadn't thought he was doing that badly. He blinked in surprise when Mike rubbed Rudy's hand through the come on his belly, then returned the hand to his cock.

Rudy understood, though, in the next moment, when his hand slid slickly along Mike's cock instead of jerkily, and Mike clearly agreed, moaning as Rudy twisted upward, quickly learning and far more intensely interested in being good at this than pretty much anything ever before. He was nearly disappointed when Mike groaned and came all over him, despite it being the second-hottest thing he'd seen that day.

Mike rolled onto his back, flopping down with a huge grin on his face. Rudy propped himself up on one elbow. "You see?" he said.

"Eh?" asked Mike.

"Usually I'm able to be good at things right away. Clearly more practice is required in this case."

"Oh, I'd say you're--" Mike started, then stopped himself. "No, yes, you're totally right. You suck at that."

Rudy allowed himself a slight, shy smile. "Maybe."

Mike dissolved into giggles.


End file.
